Crimson Promise
by An4rchicpe4ce
Summary: Riven's painful past ushers her into the pragmatic present. She has to make a difficult choice. What will it be? R&R please!


**[A/N]: Hi! It feels good to be back writing again. Being active and all. I can't promise much activity in the next few weeks or in my other stories, but Moonshine's Chapter 5 is almost done in its concept. Anyway, hope you enjoy this fanfiction! It's quite lore-based, and will focus on the Ionia and Noxus conflict (that's saying without spoiling too much). Don't forget to rate and review! **

_"Do I really want to do this?"_

_You've asked yourself that question countless times, fool,_ her logical persona chided. Steeling herself, she took a confident stride forward, only to have her left leg hovering in mid-air, unwilling to cross the threshold. The doorway stood foreboding, disapproving of her hesitation.

_"It isn't too late to back off. The meeting can still go on without you."_

_The meeting is about me – how can a nation go on without its leader? Don't be a fool. _

_"Then go back on your words. It's not as if you haven't done that before."_ She could hear her devilish alter ego chuckle in delight, stumping her.

_Not any more_, her rational mind thought. She placed her left foot down, only to have it halt, once again, a few inches off the ground.

_"Think, Riven, think! Think about what you're doing, the possible ramifications! You came back to this hellish sinkhole for this?"_ Her alter ego threw logic into her face, a rare occurrence, seeing that her alter ego usually was better at pathos. _"You didn't go into exile for nothing! You swore that you would only be back when this hellhole had gotten its ideas straight; look where it's at now! It's a complete disaster! You want to be back in ruins of the city you once believed in?"_

_Yeah, and I didn't travel miles and miles, getting blisters all over my sore feet, just to come here and chicken out._ She landed her foot firmly on the other end of the threshold, her right foot following soon afterwards. Slinking into the darkness, she could almost hear her logical mind rubbing its hands as it waited in anticipation. Lost to the grasp of the shadows, she moved on, her right hand running along a rotting wooden banister. Her fingers tapped a light beat on the moldy wood as she hummed gently.

Her right hand was grabbing a unique object. From afar, the stick seemed to glow a light green, green as the barrels of deadly toxic wastes of Zaun. The stick ended in a pointy tip, akin to a spear with a particularly sharp and long spearhead. Under closer inspection, though, one could see that the stick was not a stick at all.

It was a sword, broken into shards. The shards had long been lost, the pieces scattered all over Valoran, memorabilia she left behind after visiting each place. However, right now, she could feel the power of the blade thrumming in her hand. She grasped it tightly, feeling the warmth the once-was-blade emanated as it vibrated softly.

She could still remember the day,

_What is broken can be re-forged._ She told herself that, every single day. She wanted to believe it, even though she knew she couldn't. She wanted to make it the truth, although it was impossible.

Her heels clacked against steel floor, and she looked up and gazed forward. There was only one corridor ahead of her, ending off in a patch of bright red light. All she could feel was exhilaration. She was so close to home now. She wished she could just instantaneously appear at the doorway, as even the few seconds worth of sprinting towards the door was too long for her. Putting all her fears and doubts aside, her heart rose, pumping furiously. She could hear the pounding of her heart, the rush of the blood as it gushed through her veins like a dam broken loose.

Breaking from a trot into a full sprint, her blade trailed behind her. Breathing hard and fast, she placed one heeled foot in front of the other rapidly, her stilettos taking the brunt of the damage. She couldn't care less, anyway. 50 yards away from the brightening red square, she put in a burst of speed. Her heart thumped like a war drum just before the attack, yearning to burst out of her chest. Her sword flew up behind her in the air, leaving a green glow in her wake. Her short, cropped hair flew back behind her, swishing like broken wings primed and ready to fly.

_Just a few more steps_, she thought.

Her right arm swinging vigorously by her side, she felt almost weightless as she dashed the last few steps, bounding across the threshold in one leap.

In that instance, she felt alive. Truly alive, not running around Valoran, half-dead. Her eyes were sparkling with excitement, something she hadn't seen in herself for a very, very long time.

Instantly, the cavernous hall overwhelmed her, as always, but not as strongly as today. She could feel the rush of pride that came along with standing in such a grand hall. Staring up, she could barely make out the tops of the towering pillars as they stretched vertically and reached out to an impossibly tall, arched ceiling. Around her, doorways were everywhere, surrounding her on all sides, each door looking the same as the one beside it. A staircase right in front of her branched out in different directions, rising up towards the sky. The floor was marble etched with concentric circles and runic symbols, glowing with their aura of wealth, power, and fame. The walls were lined with drawings depicting the rise and fall of the land it was sitting on.

Plush couches and coffee tables littered the hall. She spotted her favourite one, maroon with golden embroidery. Plunking down on it, she leaned back, head resting on the back of the chair, hands over her temples. She controlled her breath, willing herself to calm down. She took in deep breaths of the slightly stale air. She closed her mouth, exhaling through her nose. Puffing up her cheeks, she placed both hands behind her head, relaxed. High above her, the glass windows were stained bright red from the piercing sunlight.

"Admiring the view?" A voice floated down the stairway and echoed throughout the chamber. The voice was akin to nails scratching on the chalkboard, with a more melodious, comprehensible tinge. Mildly surprised, she turned around to face the speaker. Standing on the staircase was a figure, clothed in jungle green robes, a scarf covering his jaw and mouth. One of his hands was holding on tightly onto a cane, the other gently tickling the beak of a bird.

"Riven. Forever on time." Swain chuckled to himself, extending a wrinkled hand not grasping his ornately designed cane. "It's been a long time," he rasped, as she grasped her blade and climbed up the staircase, three steps at a time.

"So it has been." She leaned on the ivory banister, elbows propped up against it. Swain fixed her with a calm look, one which she returned. Swain ran his eyes up and down her body, assessing her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Silence hung in the air for a few moments.

"Good to see you back." She could imagine the thin, lipless smile that would no doubt be forming on Swain's lips. His grating voice echoed through the chamber.

"Not to be distracted. I see. Excellent! Still the same you," Swain exclaimed. Riven did nothing but nod.

"Down to business, then. Follow me." He turned soundlessly and walked back through the doorway in which he came in. The sound of his cane against the floor retreated gradually into the darkness.

Riven, following hot on his heels, her own clacking noisily against the marble floor, realized that she was in a part of the High Command she wasn't very familiar with. She thought she had explored every inch of the beloved grounds she called her home. Apparently, much had changed since almost fourteen years ago where she severed her sword and her ties with Noxus. The only impression she had of this place was that this part of the Command was unimportant and for the inferiors to dwindle in. She'd never given much concern of where the low-ranking staff of the Command went, but as far as she knew from her limited knowledge, they always went in this general direction.

As a young Noxian girl, with raw power hanging over her head ever since she was born, she would always take some time off wielding swords twice her size to explore the labyrinths that made up the Command. She knew it like the back of her hand. Shortcuts that could allow here to cross the two edges of Command within 5 minutes; Places that she knew she could be truly alone, hidden from plain sight, when she was feeling lonely and dejected; Her favourite spots where she could have a conversation that was impossible to eavesdrop.

_Where's this place, then?_

"In here." Swain's hand pushed against a slab of wall, and a hidden entrance appeared, completely hewn onto the surface. Stepping within it, she saw rows after rows of clothes, hanging a foot from the floor. They ranged from the royal wear of long, flowing robes and elegant dresses to battle regalia, armour-plated and studded with Noxian insignias.

"I never knew Noxus was that rich," Riven said, admiring the suits. Despite the large amount of clothing, the place appeared disused. The room reeked slightly of damp wood. Each movement kicked up a tiny dust cloud.

"Yes, we've come into money recently. Things have changed quite a lot since you last … paid a visit," Swain slurred.

Striding briskly down a narrow carpet in the middle of the room, he turned left in between two rows of clothes. The clothes to the left and right of this particular aisle seemed mild in taste, less battle-heavy and more elegant, although they still had the touch of battle and war. Through their transparent suit holders,

"And this," Swain grunted as he reached out one of his spindly hands and grasped a particularly dust-caked suit holder, "is what I want you to see."

"It was meant to be yours, seven, no, _fourteen_ years ago. Time flies, doesn't it?"

_Lying in dust for fourteen years._

"The Crimson Elite shall rise once more," Swain said to an awed Riven. "Don't you agree?"

Riven stepped forward and grasped the suit holder. In a flourish, she pulled the golden zipper in the middle downwards, revealing the clothes within. The suit was jet black, the shade of darkest nights. Gold threads were embossed just underneath the breast cuts of the black suit. The suit reached to her neck, ending just beneath her jaw. The suit stretched in all directions, ending at the elbows and shins, just above her ankle. Silver straps were sewn around her thighs and next to her waist. A small maroon drape with silver hems, stitched with the finest noximer, covered the back and arms. Just by looking at it, she could feel her blood pound.

_So beautiful_, she breathed. _So perfect._

Swain held the suit up, running his rheumatic fingers through the noximer, making it turn the consistency of ripples on a calm pond. "Will you?" In a slow motion, he gently held out the uniform to her. They locked gazes once more, his blood-red pools meeting her hardened chestnut ones.

Invitation to the Crimson Elite. _The invitation of a lifetime._

Swain would never be able to tell that a battle was raging in her mind. Her calm posture shadowed the turmoil in her heart, the battle of two voices – her logical and emotional sides were thrashing it out.

_"We shouldn't even have come here in the first place!"_

_I've missed this opportunity twice. I'm not going to miss it a third time._

_"Look, fool. You wanna be a poster girl again? They used you, manipulated you as a pawn in their political game of chess. When you were just 9! You were _disposable_, and you're making yourself vulnerable again. What make you think you're still significant to them? What makes you think they won't use you again? Hmm?"_

_Step back and think. They wouldn't. They don't have a reason to –_

_"No, _you_ step back and think. The idiot Darkwill is still ruling this place. It's no better than 7 or even 14 years ago – thank Valoran it isn't any much worse. The politics remain the same. The government remains power-hungry, with corrupted officials taking office. The is the life you want to return to? Working under a bunch of bureaucratic dunderheads?"_

_I never did say they weren't airheads. You assumed such._

_"Oh, so you conceded that you don't want to work for these morons?"_

_Neither did I say I was intending to work for airheads. If you study the news, as I do, you will know that there is going to be a major power transition._

_"Gosh, thanks, I _totally_ didn't know that. Yeah, so what? You call the transition from Boram to Kendrick significant in the political arena?"_

_Clearly, you haven't been reading the news, have you? There's another potential candidate for the election._

_"Really? Who?"_

_Someone by the name of Jericho Swain._

_"Eh? Sw-Swain?!"_

_He will win this election. I'm sure of it. With this victory comes along the writing of the new chapter in the history of Noxus. Jericho is the one who will bring us out of this. The strongest of all the competitors yet._

"Noxus to Riven, Noxus to Riven…" Swain muttered, staring at Riven curiously. Riven snapped out of it.

She held out her hand. "Let me try it on," she said, smiling slightly, eyes unfocused.

_ He will be the one. I trust him. _ At her lightest touch, the cape fluttered gently once more. A glossy sheen of silver emanated from the cape, giving it the appearance that it was shining, glowing like a living being. The garb of an angel. She nodded her head in acknowledgement; suit tucked under the crook of her arm, before she turned around and strode towards another curtained area.

Swain watched her go. Her lithe figure disappeared round one of the racks of suits, behind a velvet curtain partition that served as a changing room. He would wait. He would respect her decision, no matter what it was. He knew that she was free to reject his offer, although he also knew that she was not likely to do so. _Third time isn't the charm here._

_She is the last one, the missing puzzle piece._ _Together, they will be invincible. The indestructible Crimson Elite, the crème de la crème. Without her, everything may fall apart. _Swain clenched her first. _She must be persuaded, beyond reason, to be faithful to my cause. Everything depends on this. Apparently, the stakes were higher than I thought. We _must_ win her at all costs._

He sat down on a nearby chair, tapping his swollen fingers on the cushioned armrest to the tune of a short but gruesome ditty he had learnt when he was young. The tune was easy to hum to, the beat standard and simple by anyone's standards.

_"Once there was a grand city_

_Its people full of fools_

_As who we are, we killed them all_

_And made our place to rule."_

He smiled as the tune came out of his cracked lips, a mere whisper. He would persuade and wait for Riven to join their side, no matter what. Whatever it took.

Riven pulled the curtains shut behind her, curtain rings jangling noisily. The only thing in front of her was a plain mirror, cracked at the edges and stained with flecks of dirt that refused to come off after the years. The patterns on the edges of the gilded mirror frame were not dissimilar to the ones on the suit that she held in her hands. She ran her free fingers over the frame, gold paint flaking off in some parts, and the pale-coloured wood showing in others.

Stripping off her weathered brown and white clothes, she held the suit in front of her, wondering how she would look like in it. Slipping the suit onto herself, she found that the suit was made of a supple material, stretched to envelop her accentuating curvature, though it felt particularly tight around her hips and across her chest. Tying the drape around her neck such that it settled over her back, she looked at herself in the mirror. The figure in the mirror staring back at her looked intimidating, fearsome. She looked like a veteran Noxian warrior, without any doubt. She had to admit, with a trace of vanity, that she looked good in this suit. The body-hugging suit seemed to fit her perfectly, as it should have, considering it was specially tailored for her. She tilted her hips sideways and leaned her head backwards, watching the suit's glossy material glint under the light of the bare bulb.

Swain heard the soft patter of bare feet on the carpeted floor, and sat up in anticipation. She was ready.

A tuft of white hair peeked around the corner, followed by two curious, almost child-like eyes. Swain was ready to imagine that he was a younger man, petting small little Riven on her head as she tried to heft a blade her size. Swain could faintly remember being fond of his child prodigy, breaking free of his usual cold, stern mask to take care of Riven when she was in Command. He remembered stroking her soft, rosy cheeks as she gave a sweet dimpled smile.

Swain snapped out of his imagination, and looked at the new Riven. Age had stolen the young bright-eyed girl from him, and replaced her with a grown lady, albeit one who was starting to show the first signs of creases around the eyes and on her slender hands. Swain reminded himself that she was not the only one who had aged – his mottled hands were testament to that fact. Nothing to be sad about, he told himself. Nothing to pity about himself, or her, for that matter.

Riven fully emerged from the shadows, a curious look in her eyes, as if questioning him. _Well? How do I look?_ And Swain had to admit, she looked gorgeous, a perfect matured lady. The suit fitted her better at her confident age of 28, as compared to her young and immature age of 14. Swain gave a small smile, imperceptible behind his mask, but Riven caught it. _It's beautiful._

They exchanged gazes. For that few moments, Riven could almost imagine that their relationship still lasted. That it was all the same between them. _Always was, always will be_, she thought as a smile crept onto her face.

Swain shattered the emotional moment by rasping loudly. "Come with me," he said, extending a wrinkled hand.

Riven's gaze never broke. Swain was ever the stern old man she knew, albeit one with a slight wetness in his glassy eyes. She grasped his bony hand with her own firm one. All of a sudden, she was transported back, 7 years ago, the day she dreaded. "Where are we going?"

She could detect another one of Swain's smirks through his scarf.

"To meet some old friends."


End file.
